


Hymn to the Pillory (The Commander)

by FreeRonan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeRonan/pseuds/FreeRonan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day, Lexa is CEO and Chairman of Polaris Innovations. By night, she dawns armor and sword in the name of vengeance, using her influence to take down others who would continue to seize the blood of her blood. Clarke is a soul ripened by loss who in a single night is almost a casualty to the criminal element Lexa hunts. She soon finds herself tethered to Lexa's mission through the nature of their flowering connection and discovers that their enemies are the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wolves at the Gate

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this fic was created by a mutual who desired a Clexa AU that was Batman inspired. I totally took the bare bones of her prompt and adapted it in hopes that it becomes something substantial. Enjoy.)

//Broken heads in hospital beds  
Saving ends and pulling your friends//

The evening after her shift ended Clarke raced to the park. It was near the end of Summer, and the sun was low in the sky and the nights were balmy still. Today had been a down tempo B-side compared to the past few weeks. Polis was a restless city and lately, Clarke’s sixteen hour shifts at Tridega General Hospital had put soft corns on the balls of her feet. It was as attractive as the sick green of her scrubs. Once, her mother had caught her after a bath digging into them with a scalpel. 

“You’ll get an infection,” Abby said. She stood disapprovingly in the doorway of the hall bathroom. Clarke’s face was fixed in concentration, “It’s sterile, mom.” Clarke imagined she was holding an X-Acto knife. Her foot was a handicraft in her lap.

“Those scabs are going to be ugly.” Abby said. Clarke gave her mother a withering look. As far back as she could go, Abby was always giving a diagnosis. “Cosmetics.” Clarke said thickly, shutting the door on her mother and her demurrals. 

Her father had always told her if something was itching her, scratch it. Revel in that temporary relief. In another life, Jake Clarke had been an investigative journalist and such was his thing, to keep picking at it--for the story, for the truth. Clarke missed him, all the ways in which they were alike, and how they’d team up against Abby and the tyranny that was her practicality. 

//While you're chasing the first line  
We made it through//

Presently, Clarke was sat on a bed of grass, the blades tickling her thighs and calves sharp-soft. The sky overhead was a dark canopy, bathed in a diffused luminance she longed to capture in charcoal. Organic smudges played out the cityscape on her eight by eleven canvas; like a still from a black and white film. Clarke’s fingers etched along while the music blasted unforgivingly in her ears. 

//He's black and blue  
and facedown//

 

Clarke was sure of the Vigilante in Polis when two nights ago a pair of armed robbers were wheeled in. 

It was during the 2 a.m. rush. Two of them. One swarthy and wearing those unreasonable shorts that fell past the knees. The other was fair with a crude sleeve of faded ink that had to have been done in prison. Two EMT’s carried utility bags and carted them in from ambulances. The pair were in such a state the administrator removed Clarke from the consultation room to Major Trauma. Abby headed the swarm of personnel surrounding them. 

“A priority one. 3rd degree burns covering 28% of the body. Stable…” Clarke couldn’t identify the injury but this was before they rolled him past her. His shirt was a spectacular mess welded to his middle like a plate of scrambled eggs; the pulp of his body a red ruin, melted and wet looking. Stable as he was with paramedic administered narcotics she could hear him moaning, half-mangled and strained. “Wheel him to Resus, quickly.” 

The second of the hurriedly admitted was a priority two; for Abby. “Multiple Lacerations. Gunshot wound to the arm, looks self inflicted...”  
Her diagnosis: “It’s going to have to come off,”  
“No!” He cried, abruptly alert despite being heavily sedated. “Please, spare my arm! I need it to work and--”  
“Clarke,” commanded Abby. After his IV was done, Clarke busied herself with fetching the anesthesiologist. When they returned, Abby was playing consultant. “The damage is done, Kai. Your arm is blown… it’s done... no amount of suturing is going to work. Our priority is repairing the nerve damage you’ve sustained; We have to take it off.”

He sobbed, then gave Abby a trembling nod, snot hanging from his nose and upon his lips.  
Clarke could hear him still, even in the park through her speakers.

//She's rushing in your bed  
You take draws to sort your head facedown//

 

They took the arm off. Once the anesthesia set, her mother’s colleagues in latex gloves and hair caps carted the boy to the operating room and got it with a saw. 

Harper, the EMT at the scene found Clarke in the room Abby and the other nurses left her in. Clarke lapped at a tear rolling down her cheek, finished scrubbing her hands and turned to the other girl who informed her, “A symbol. Carved into both their chests. Just like all the others.” 

The Coroner noticed too and that was enough for Commissioner Kane, who was now offering a reward for any information regarding the attacker or attackers. 

There was a perpetrator, or plural. One person could not have been capable of all the recent clashes with the criminal element. Each and everyone of their victims was a gangbanger, a rapist, had some whiff of recurrent criminality. The vigilante’s were dead set on leaving Polis a reeling trail of broken bodies in their wake--all with a signature, an infinity symbol, neat as one could etch with a tip of a blade. It was original, it said no one did this but me. I’m taking responsibility. 

Clarke’s feet ached all the more because of it, all these injured goons piling up. 

Jake would love this. For him, the itch in its most figurative form was curiosity, plain and simple. Indulging in things he had no business.  
Scratch the itch. Temporary relief. 

//Then he said I lost my head  
Can you feel it?//

Something obtrusive played against the edge of her vision and her eyes found a pair of denim jeans and camel colored boots. Clarke loosed an earbud and let it fall into her lap, her brow arching as the scent of bike exhaust filled the air. Three other choppers pulled up along the curb. 

“This her?” One of them said, kicking out his bike stand. The rest followed, climbing off their hogs and discarding their helmets.  
Clarke wasted no time and stood. Beside her, Camel Boots smiled. “You Bellamy’s girl right?”  
“Who?” At her admission his face darkened, he didn’t like her answer. Clarke didn’t like his face but she couldn’t blame him. 

It was an awful lie. 

“Don’t play dumb with us.” Clarke swallowed as three of the others took his flank. They flexed in leather cuts over T shirts and bare chests. Clarke knew exactly how to play out this situation. They were predators yet no better than dogs; she could not show an ounce of fear or agitation.  
Fucking Bellamy, she thought bitterly. This had him written all over it. Why else would Reapers be searching for her? “What did he do to piss you off?” 

There was no denying her acquaintance with Bellamy Blake. 

For years, Clarke had the privilege of friendship with Octavia Blake, Bellamy’s younger sister. When their mother was institutionalized, the Blakes found solace with the Griffins next door. Bellamy was mercurial enough back then to earn many a boundary with Clarke, however Octavia was the bridge between them and at her expense they found a way to co-exist. About as cordial as a pair of flies flying around the same cow’s ass. 

Then he found solace in the gutters of Polis, with lot like this. Clarke had wanted to reach out to her lost brother. 

Turns out, befriending Bellamy Blake was more trouble than it was worth. 

“He owes them,” spoke a voice from the curb. Clarke frowned her face, she recognized him. From that aquiline nose under those smiling, deep set eyes.  
“Murphy?” She said, disbelief turning her statement into a question. He smirked soft and diverted his eyes.  
“Yeah?” He said.  
“What are you doing with these people?” Clarke said.  
He didn’t answer right away and when he did, Clarke crossed her arms; an involuntary act of defense that made her look petulant, she immediately regretted it. “Look Clarke, Bellamy made promises he couldn’t keep. He put my ass on the line. He told them he would provide and he didn’t. Do you know what that is? That is stealing. You don’t steal from guys like this.”  
He sounded scared.  
“That’s right, love.” said Camel Boots.  
She turned to them, growling. “I am not Bellamy’s girl. Murphy can attest to that.” She spat it right in their faces.  
“Murphy tells us otherwise, says Blake thinks highly of you.” That came from the “mouth” of these goons, who stood beneath Clarke’s chin like a tattooed Napoleon.  
Clarke grimaced. “Be that as it may, he’s not my boyfriend or my problem.”  
“Be that as it may,” He said, hissing her words back at her. “We don’t care. Let’s put a razor in the gob of this smart mouthed bitch.” 

No. 

Clarke made a start, not for the straight path diverting from the fountain, but for the trees. The trees would be her army of chevaux de frise. 

She didn’t get very far. 

One of them, a lanky dude with long limbs snatched her by the hair and jerked. She fell back, body slumping against the grass and found herself in a semicircle of limbs that shot out in search of her soft body. Clarke’s first instinct was to raise her arms in protection, to bring her knees to her chest, and curl into a ball but before she could they pulled her to her feet.

Mouth stood before her, razor between his thumb and forefingers. 

“Come on guys, I think she get’s it.” Murphy said, his only attempt at decency Clarke didn’t bother to file away. Her body screamed fight, but as she struggled they just held her tighter. Mouth raised the blade to her lips and hissed, “Open, you cunt, or I’ll slice em off.”

Clarke felt her cheeks hot, as if they’d been struck over and over again. Her eyes were wet with tears and she whimpered, telling her body to stop fighting in their grip. It wouldn’t listen, her body was disconnected and all too aware of how wrong this all was. 

Clarke opened her mouth and he slipped the razor in. She prayed not to swallow. 

When he closed her mouth by the jaw he laughed, high and hard. It rang across the park, until it became a cry, no longer tickled but terrible. Vastly different than what it’d been before. 

His screech was mangled like rat with it’s tail cut off. “HOLY FUCK!” Murphy screamed, foot scrambling for the gas on his bike. It started and he was gone, right off the curb and into the quiet streets. Before Clarke’s eyes, jutting out from Mouth’s bare chest was steel. It slid from out of him, leaking warmth down the expanse of his stomach. Clarke spit the razor out before they released her. 

The other two Reapers drew their handguns, aiming at Mouth’s killer while Clarke thought her eyes were goddamn liars. 

Before them stood a girl, slim but not slight in armor that seemed rustic and arcane and tactical. Just a girl, face obscured by black warpaint, but Clarke saw more than that. It was all in the eyes--green eyes, hard like candy.

“Go.” The girl said, but her voice rooted Clarke to the spot. There was a moment of stillness; Clarke holding her breath, the girl--the vigilante poised, the Reapers contemplative. 

Then movement.  
A finger on the trigger.  
A decision. 

The vigilante was quicker, spinning in almost a blur. With a decisive flick of the wrist one of the Reapers was reduced to a howl, his eyes widened at the stump she left in place of his hand. Blood spurted from it like the fountain in the innermost part of the park. It fell to the ground, dead weight without his arm to anchor it to the rest of him. 

“Run.” She hissed. And they did, leaving behind Mouth’s body, a limb, and skid marks on the pavement. 

A moment passed, with the vigilante wiping the slick red from her blade onto the leg of her pants before sheathing it. Clarke couldn’t take her eyes off the girl, her tousled and heavily braided hair hanging about her back. How primal and uncompromising she seemed. The girl busied herself with her dirk and a lighter, applying the flame to the steel until the tip glowed like the cherry of a cigarette. From the ground she retrieved the severed hand and began to etch. Clarke could guess it what it was and turned away, blinking back the tears that betrayed her stony face. “Why that symbol? Why infinity?” 

The girl in armor moved onto Mouth’s body without answering, cutting into his forehead quick and neat. When she was done she returned the dirk to its scabbard and said to Clarke, “You’re trembling.”  
“Can you blame me?” Clarke said hushed and too-fast. She’d been waiting for the girl to say something.  
The vigilante made a noise, guttural. “I told you to go, you were free. You didn’t have to see this.”  
“I had to see.” Clarke said. For myself. A quiet moment passed that made Clarke turn, fearing for a second that the girl had gone.  
She was still there, all steel. “Well, you got me.”  
“Do I?” said Clarke, still shaking. She closed her eyes to steady herself. When she opened them the girl was still there. 

No trick of the mind.

Finally, the girl looked at Clarke, and she stilled. Her eyes went soft as moss and Clarke felt the blood inside of her go buttery soft. “Are you okay?”  
Clarke could hear her heart in her chest now, reminding her of a boot biting into snow with each step. “Yes.”  
She paused for a moment. “Good. I’d make myself scarce if I were you.”  
And unlike the very apparition Clarke believed the girl to be, she didn’t disappear.  
She turned and left Clarke all alone, staring at the mess of a corpse.


	2. Bloodhounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Griffin is met with the very useful duo of Miller and Monroe, two young detectives sent by the Commissioner to go over Abby's official statements. 
> 
> It's a very simple tet a tet but I wanted us to get a grasp on Abby's thinking process. I wanted her to be a just a tiny bit less faithful to the series and to remind me of a very mild version of my own mother if she were a doctor.

Dr. Abigail Griffin finished her rounds fifteen minutes prior and now stood before a vending machine, finger on the button releasing shitty hospital coffee into a styrofoam cup. She filled it to the brim and moved to sit it on the non-porous counter top for a good doctoring. Sugar, plenty of it. Abby sipped and clenched her jaw, longing for her French press at home. Forty eight ounces today, two dozen sugars, eight creams--too many even numbers. Surely, she thought, she was well on her way to diabetes. 

Why am I drinking this shit?

If her husband were still alive he would have laughed at her reasoning, and so would their daughter who would be having this cup with her if she hadn’t called out of her scheduled shift for the third time this week. Playing truant wasn’t completely out of character for Clarke, and if it was not the increasing violence in the city putting more into hospital beds here then mayhaps there was something else cutting deep, Abby wondered. Last night when they spoke, there was a familiar mournfulness in Clarke’s tone that had been absent for sometime--since the months following the bereavement of her Finn. 

Finn--heedless, wild Finn, Clarke’s late boyfriend, took his own life last year and left her daughter clinically depressed. Just the thought of him could even leave Abby bereft. Later, she decided, she would go see Clarke and rouse her from the threadbare sheets enabling her dismay. 

A throat cleared, the professionalism discernible amidst those having lunch and Abby turned to see two cops approaching. Both were young and dressed informally, badges slung on their belts. 

Detectives Nathan Miller and Zoe Monroe of Polis Metropolitan Police Department.

“Dr. Griffin?” said Monroe, in an amiable tone that augmented their familiarity. A few months ago, Monroe was admitted for a broken tailbone she earned chasing a perp and she saw Abby for treatment. Miller--her partner--brought flowers during her recovery.   
Abby regarded them. “Hello Detectives.”   
“Coffee good?” asked Miller, even-tempered and professional. Abby saw that he was clutching a manila folder in his hands and she had to resolve herself. As a tax paying, law abiding, and valued member of the city, she feared no badge--but if she was to be questioned, why not be called to the precinct?  
“Yes, you ought to help yourselves.” Abby replied. She was acutely aware of the patients, watching and wondering.   
Miller cleared his throat. “We would, but we’ve had our fill in the cruiser.”   
Monroe changed the subject. “Dr. Griffin, may we ask a few more questions about the patients you treated last week?”  
Abby gesturing halfheartedly to a table where they each took a seat. It was very casual.  
“You do know how many patients I saw last week, right?” Abby said. Monroe smiled softly, but Miller stiffened, wondering if Abby was playing with them. Abby held their gazes, of course she knew to whom they were referring. A pair of armed robbers--sheep to the police, Abby knew. This was about the wolf in the woods. To Commissioner Kane and the D.A. that was the Vigilante. 

Miller unclenched his jaw and corrected her. “A Mr. Kai Morgan and a Mr. Pedro Jarquin,”  
Abby nodded. “Our amputee and burn victims, yes.”   
“Yeah, tragic the arm had to go,” Monroe continued. “According to the chart--you listed it as self inflicted.”   
Now she had a little notebook out and a pen in hand.

Abby answered honestly. Gesturing with her hands, she told them how ruined Mr. Morgan’s arm had been and that amputating the rest cleanly had been the main priority. She went on to say that--while she was no expert on ballistics--the angle of the wound suggested he pointed the barrel at his own arm and squeezed the trigger.

A moment of silence passed between them, Abby sipped at her coffee to keep idle as Miller opened his folder and pulled out papers to flip through. 

“But that’s not what happened, is it?” Abby asked.   
Monroe’s mouth deflated as she considered it, “You were right about the ballistics, Dr. Griffin.”  
“But not about the self infliction.”   
Miller and Monroe exchanged looks and Abby still couldn’t fathom why Kane sent these youths.   
“We’re not at liberty to say much, but yes. Not about the self infliction.” Abby’s face was still. Miller said, “You also saw the brand on them both.”   
“Yes, the infinity symbol.” she said. “My daughter Clarke noticed them and brought it to my attention.”  
Miller looked at the papers purposefully obscured from her view. Then they stood, one after the other and offered their hands, one after another. She shook with them and walked them to the lobby. For a moment, Monroe looked as if she was going to say something more, and then she just shook her head and said, “Thank you Dr. Griffin, we’ll be in touch.”

Abby nodded and folded her arms. She said warningly, “Oh yes, and you will give Commissioner Kane my regards.”


	3. Guilty of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! So we finally are introduced to Lexa and get to glimpse into the fragile interpersonal relationships in her life.
> 
> (I consider this like the best chapter so far, probably even better than the next. This was the one I was the most excited to write so pls enjoy!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cdn.pinthiscars.com/images/1969-nissan-fairlady-z-432-wallpaper-3.jpg
> 
> Lexa's coupe. I wanted her to be riding in something classic, but Japanese; a proper grand tourer.

9:41 a.m.  
Executives and the Board of Directors at Polaris Innovations arranged themselves in a conference room at headquarters. The scheduled meeting was to begin in approximately four minutes and the small quorum of seven were seated and waiting for the CEO on whose behalf they were gathered.

Indra Kom Trikru, Ballistics Program Director at Polaris, sat opposite an executive in a $600 Armani gilet who was brought a coffee by an intern. “It would seem Miss Woods is running late this morning,” he said between sips, “Would anyone care to start without her?” 

None of the others moved to say anything, but Indra was unlike them. Sharp in an all-white Prada trouser suit, she shifted slightly in the swivel seat, her glare set on Armani Suit. 

Her repose was smoldering. 

“You would love to, wouldn’t you Tristan? Miss Woods has three minutes. We can wait.” 

That was that. Indra wished to exhale, but it would have been in poor taste. Where were you, Alexandria?

9:38 a.m.  
Lexa was sat upright against the porcelain pedestal tub. Between her thumb and forefinger was a suture needle, a lengthy strand of polymer looped within the eye. The white carrara floor was cold against her tailbone, an unwelcome distraction from the tug at her skin each time she pulled the wound closed. Her teeth were bared. What she lacked in practice she made up with hands clever enough; that and the point of the needle remained forgiving and sharp enough to carry the suture through without much resistance. Still, it ached, and there was nothing in the med kits beside her to curb the pain. Thankfully on her way inside, Lexa seized a bottle of Maker's Mark from a slot out of the butterfly rack in the cabinet. It made for fine self medication--as much as an antiseptic. 

She tipped the mouth of the bottle a little ways and doused her upper arm in a rivulet that seared the finished stitches as if she cauterized them, she gasped. Lexa swallowed some down then, and waited for the burn to nestle in her chest and fill her up warm. She capped the bottle and sat it on the surface of the sink, regarding her reflection in the mirror above. 

Along her hairline was a thin gash the length of a thumbnail and despite the abrasion flush upon her cheekbone and the yellowing bruise upon her jawline, it was that tiny open wound setting her teeth on edge. 

It took her a painstakingly long time before she could tear her eyes away from mirror. 

1:58 p.m.  
Lexa was in and out of consciousness now, spread eagle upon her coverlets. Sometime between showering and wrapping her arm in gauze she had curled up in bed. Sleep came and went, a dreamless passage of time. Her cell carried on its incessant buzzing somewhere on the floor, reminding her of what awaited after skipping out on this mornings meeting. Last night had went from reconnaissance to blows, to following and cornering a few Reapers in an apartment scuffle, eventually passing out harmed on a rooftop until the rising sun blinded her awake. Such things had made it impossible to attend. 

Lexa found herself out on her balcony, undoing her braids so that her hair was out in waves. After dressing, she scooped her keys from the window sill and headed down the tower block to the parking garage underground. 

The entire elevator ride down was spent in her phone. Notifications from the corporate email were inflated and she missed eight calls from the office. In her inbox twenty six messages read pending, the majority of them from her assistant Aden. 

She dialed him. 

“Miss Woods, you’re alive!” he answered, awfully cheerful considering whatever mess her absence left, he was cleaning it up.  
“I know, I’ve fucked up.”  
“Oh, absolutely. I’ve received several messages on behalf of the shareholders. That was not a coffee date you can reschedule, Miss Woods.”  
Lexa allowed his remark to slide. Aden was from no temp agency, he’d been selected for her by the board, with a degree in bookkeeping and business administration. This was no entry level position, he’d been hired to keep her honest. “Hello?” he said, calling her to attention. She hadn’t realized how far away she went, her mind on the aches of her body.  
“Alright, I want you to go see Indra. Is she in?” said Lexa.  
Aden made a noise in the back of his throat, “She is, but she was in a state and I would rather not…”  
“Pop your head in her office. Tell her I would like to meet for drinks at closing time. My treat.”  
He said, recovering his dignity. “She is with a client.”  
She laughed at this. “Liar.”  
“Why are you doing this to me, Miss Woods?”  
She said, “Don’t be a baby. I’ll be in first thing tomorrow, not to worry.” 

Gustus had been waiting to catch her unawares all afternoon. 

Lexa hung up as the elevator doors parted. Slipping her phone into her pocket, she quickly graced the light reflected path, passing rows of neatly parked sedans and hatchbacks until she came upon her Nissan.. He stood there, leaning against the trunk of the car--a gesture born of discomfort and wearing patience. Her stomach became a knot. Gustus was a stocky man in his middle age with dark hair to his shoulders kept in a knot atop his head, and eyes that usually casted a certain pickled intensity, the result of losing almost all his family in such a sparse and drawn out timeline. But these circumstances weren't the usual so his presence was to the brim with purpose and his eyes--so near resemblance to Lexa’s--were like the twin bores of a double barrel. 

“Well you have been incorrigible the past few weeks.”  
“I’ve been many things, but not that.” Her tone was fringed delicately. She was not afraid of this man who was her uncle, but more so she remembered the way he’d been, so careful trying to piece together a youth splinted by grief. Lexa unlocked the door and tossed a black duffel bag in the back seat.  
“Oh? What do you call it then?”  
“Gustus, what are you playing at?” she said.  
“What am I playing at? You are the one who is--” he exhaled and dropped his voice, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “Missing meetings with the Board, playing at vigilante, taking the goddamn law into your own hands. Is this what became of you when they took you from me all those years ago?”  
“Took me from you. You didn’t even know what to do with me. Titus saved me. HEDA saved me.”  
“I remember the day you came home from school and he was with you, Anya was upstairs with her tutor. What he said to me, about allowing him to train you… It was a cult, Lexa. I’m sorry, but your mind has bricked it over with fantasy and this lunacy, whatever you are up to, it must end.” he said.  
Lexa laughed. It was a cruel thing for her to do because she knew he cared and that he believed he was justified in the matter, but what he said tickled her.  
“You think I’m crazy, you always have, since the state gave me over to you. You and Anya moved into our manor. You had me institutionalized. You put me in that place, wanted me gone!”  
He shrunk back at her words--her throaty, unbearable hiss. “Why? So that you could ensure a future for her. So that she would inherit my father’s place, the place you’ve always wanted.”  
Gustus’ voice was terribly, terribly even. Instantly, Lexa regretted giving voice to what she didn’t mean. “I was never meant to be the heir. Your father was groomed to head Polaris Innovations, and look what happened to him, he was blown up. My daughter only took your place because that man that kidnapped you and look at what happened to her…” Gustus choked, “I sent you to that institution to get you help and he took advantage of that, of an eight year old girl, and now look at you. You blame me? You have killed for that man.”  
“I kill for me.” she corrected. Lexa’s eyes worked defiantly, “Everytime I step out into the night and undo her devices, I rest easier. I do this for those we’ve lost, I avenge our family in everything I do.”

Gustus regarded Lexa’s adamant expression. Her return to Polis had been a publicized event where he had to smile and pretend to be happy his missing niece was back home, when he infact had feared the day. He took her back to the manor afterward where his lawyer was present and waiting her word to allow him the pursuit of a kidnapping charge, against the very organization that stripped her of her brine and rebuilt her into this… Of course she had declined and they hadn’t seen each other since. It felt the same as it did fourteen years ago. 

“Do you even feel remorse for the lives you have taken? Sons, husbands, some even fathers?” he snapped. At some point in his life, after his wife died, he thought that he had things under control. Then his brother died and he was left to care for another motherless child, and the last time his own were alive she had taken his hand in hers and failed to confide in him the vague and terrible hive she had prodded, a hive that set bullets upon her, and left her in a coma to die in.

Lexa glared at him. Was that even a question? “None.” She removed her sunglasses from the pocket of her blazer and put them on.  
And then the resentment that sheltered him to his newly dismantled justifications fractured and he moved to let her pass, his eyes threatening tears. A security guard walked by, pretending not to notice their exchange. Lexa got into the driver’s seat and when Gustus had cleared she put the coupe in reverse. Her hand shook on the shift.


	4. Still Guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a smol (like really smol) flashback to Clarke's childhood, then BAM, a huge kick right in her childhood feels at the return of an old friend. We also get to meet Octavia for the first time and I hope I made her rad enough. :))))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is the fourth chapter I've put up today, and following these I will try my darnedest to post regularly, like weekly or bi-weekly.

Clarke half woke in the late morning, her eyes sticky with sleep. All around the sun bleached her room, a bright filter, and so she turned in her bed--only to find more sun. Groaning, she stuck her face in her pillow, ignoring the wet residue of her slobber. Her cell phone buzzed soft amongst the sheets and she sought it out with a tentative hand. “Hello?” 

Her mother made a noise of disapproval, “You sound gauzy. Do I have to come over again and pull the curtains open?”  
“No, you stay where you are. I’m getting up.” said Clarke.  
Abby sounded uncertain. “Alright, so no need for me to worry then?”  
Clarke rolled onto her back and began to pick at the corners of her eyes with her thumb, murmuring. “I’m expecting Octavia,” She drew her cellular from her ear to stare at the time in the corner of the dimmed screen. “Any minute now actually, shit.”  
“Language Clarke.” her mother said. Clarke snorted.  
“Sorry, look I’ll call you later. Let me make this place presentable.” Clarke said. She hung up and stretched, a gesture reminding her of their old cat Whisper; a fat, yellow furball of overdramatic lethargy her father found scavenging in their trash bin the year she turned nine. They took him to the vet and got him checked out and when Abby came home from her shift that very evening she was greeted by the sleeping lump in Clarke’s lap, and a stack of registration papers faxed over from Jake’s assistant, waiting for her signature on the kitchen table. 

Clarke’s eyes pricked and she regarded her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, her expression wistful. No longer dogged by sleep, she showered and tossed some bacon into a pan. It was soothing, the mechanical action of peeling the strips from one another, the sizzle that tickled her eyes, the heat of the grease spattering everything within its radius. 

Octavia texted. 

Stopping 4 wine, will be about 15 mins.

Clarke shook her head, smirking. Purchasing wine at one in the afternoon was exactly the kind of behavior only Octavia could get away with, and how Clarke had desperately missed her. The resulting laugh was cut short by a light rapping at the door. 

Clarke moved towards the door and eyed inside the peephole at the same time her visitor spoke. “Clarke are you there? It’s Wells.” If his voice wasn’t indicative enough as to his identity, then certainly his features were, made wide and convex by the fisheye lens. He stood alone in the hall, screening the same field of view she had but from the other side. He rapped on the door again, this time made harder by his use of the knocker. Clarke flinched, not at the sound, but at his persistence. Such ill timing, his arrival. “Clarke? I can hear you. Please, open up.” She realized how closely pressed she was against the door and felt silly about all this hesitance. 

Carefully, she pulled the door open. There he stood, right before the entryway looking every bit the same yet all the while, different. Did he get taller? Clarke thought. He was certainly larger, looking burly and thickset in a brown leather jacket. His jeans were fitted dark denim. That officer pay was certainly as it boasted. 

Wells was in most of her memories, often under the lens of love. Growing up he contended with Octavia for the role of best friend, though it was no contest the latter often lost. Still he’d been a constant in her life up until he left for the Military Academy near Mount Weather. No matter the distance, they promised to always keep in touch--and for a while they had. Through the phone, video calls, letters, even her Finn kept an individual correspondence with him. But as time passed, the contact became more and more infrequent. The normalcy of his absence became a thing. It was not personal, but rather in the way that time made a vestige of one season for the next. Clarke barely felt it, she had her life with Finn, this person who was her other half. 

Last time they’d written to each other had been the spring after Finn passed, she wouldn’t take his calls or answer his texts. When Wells wrote to her, threatening to come home, she refused to entertain such selflessness. Darkly and chemically and completely symptomatic of her clinical depression, at the time she could barely muster the energy to shower. 

Now he was in her living room, surveying her decor while she postured, her arms folded against her chest. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked. She knew she was being rude and that he didn’t deserve it, all this apprehension warred against her better judgement. 

“Apparently, your number is new.” he said coyly. “I had to call Abby, she gave me your address--I wanted to surprise you… Is this a bad time?” he said, and suddenly she felt like the worst person in the world.  
“I’m sorry.” she said, “It’s just I’m expecting Octavia soon.”  
She looked into his brown eyes, seeking what little boyishness remained about him. His gaze was pleading and it was like glancing at the sun, she looked away. “I see.” he said nodding, hurt. He exhaled and said what she was dreading. “Look, about Finn, I should have been here.”  
Clarke winced, “Don’t. Please.”  
“When he died I was out on the field--” Wells stepped forward, making her uneasy. This was intimate in a way she was not familiar with. When her father died, Wells did not pick at the scab. Instead he drove her to their spot and made her eat. She did not need this mournful Wells, she did not need this at all.  
“You don’t have to do any of this.” she said.  
“I know.” He told her how obligated he felt despite himself.  
Her expression softened, he took that as a sign her apprehension was ebbing. Wells turned and reached for the shelve above the fish tank. He retrieved the only picture of Finn she had framed since she moved here. “There was so much good in him, that it hurt to look sometimes.”

Of course she knew that, but it did nothing for him in the end. “I couldn’t help him.” she said. 

Wells turned to her, placing the frame back in it’s place. She rushed for him and found his arms waiting. 

“I missed you,” she said, trembling with the threat of a sob. She thought she could feel it from him too. Wells was holding her not unlike the way he did before he shipped out.  
“I’m done.” he said, adding bitterly. “Honorably discharged.”  
She pulled away from him, ever so slightly. “What happened.” 

He opened his mouth to explain, but the lock turned on the door with a heavy click. He let go of her. 

“Clarke, I got the biggest fucking bottle of--” 

Octavia was in the doorway, with the biggest bottle of whatever indeed. She shut the door with the heel of her foot, too busy looking at them both. She looked caught off guard. “Jaha?” 

“Octavia,” Wells nodded. “You look good.”  
Octavia’s face was a blank canvas, then she blinked. “Thanks. You know, Clarke didn’t mention you stopping by.”  
Wells’ looked rueful. “Don’t blame Clarke, I sort of just popped up.”  
Clarke was almost fearful. Under normal circumstances Octavia possessed two settings in response to what she considered rude. Stun or kill. And Wells’ interruption was incentive enough for O to choose the latter. Instead she said, “Next time warn us and I’ll bring something a little stronger than wine.”  
Octavia looked at Clarke, a brief expression that went unmissed by Wells. He smiled, very polite, posturing as if he were taking orders from his superior officer. “I ought to go, the old man is expecting me for lunch. I had to stop by though.”  
Clarke nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.” It sounded halfhearted so she added, in earnest. “I promise.”  
His acceptance was silent, “I’ll call you.”  
Octavia said, “Give your dad our best. I hear he’s doing quite the job in his new position.”

Stun. Octavia was set to stun. Wells froze and stared at her, blighted.  
He left.  
As soon as the door shut behind him, Octavia swatted Clarke’s arm. “What the hell? You didn’t tell me he would be here. Wells fucking Jaha.”  
Clarke’s butt found her sofa and she collapsed in it, “As if I knew.” she said. “And you know, you didn’t have to act like that.”  
“Act like what?” Octavia frowned. “I was completely cool about it.”  
Clarke gave her a look. “There was a barb in every word.” Teeth flashed in Octavia’s grin.  
“Alright, I’ll admit I was an asshole just a little, but I was trying my best.” Octavia spun around dramatically and plopped on the sofa next to Clarke, making the other girl laugh. After a moment, she said. “I don’t know, I don’t mean to be that way with Wells. But I’ve always got this vibe from him, ever since we were kids.”  
Clarke knew. At school, Wells was well within the innermost ring of privilege and popularity. In contrast, the Blake's made people nervous. And whether it was the fact that their mother lived in a psych ward and the resulting chips on their shoulders, it didn’t matter: they were outsiders. Unlike her brother and his ways however, Octavia at least tried to adjust well.  
“Are you okay?” she asked Clarke. Clarke nodded.  
“Pour us some wine, yeah?”  
Octavia rose to oblige her and went to the kitchen, pulling open cupboards and retrieving two glasses. She poured a neat measure in each and spun back to the living room, where Clarke was sitting still. Her eyes were shut. 

Octavia kicked her lightly in the shin. “Woe is you, Clarke.” she said.  
“You know, I am starting to think it is.”  
Octavia handed Clarke her glass and sat beside her, her hand gently rubbing Clarke’s shoulder. “What’s happened Clarke? When I left you were fine.” Octavia asked, before adding tentatively, “Is it Wells?”

Clarke released a breath riddled with nerves, looking up from her lap but not at Octavia, she didn’t have it in her to face those searching green eyes--green eyes not unlike the Vigilante’s. Her vision flashed with crystal clear installments of that night’s violence, how quick and decisive the girl moved. Primal and raw and utterly capable of slaughter; all to relieve Clarke of danger. Clarke felt a strange surge of allegiance her and the guilt beaded on her head like sweat. Mayhaps she had no business being out that night, then no one would have wanted to make harm.

She was silent for a moment, fearful of choking on a sob. “Clarke, you’re scaring me.” Octavia said, replacing her glass with her other hand for Clarke’s other shoulder. She was wrapped around her now, a warm solace. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke finally managed. She raised her wine glass and sipped. Ironically it was sobering, pacifying. She took another sip, her hands felt too idle beforehand and shook as a result. “This is good wine.” she said. 

“Clarke,” said Octavia, urgingly.  
“It isn’t Wells.”  
Octavia raised her brows, “Then what is it, Clarke? Tell me.”  
In the back of her head it felt unfair to pressure Clarke to crack herself open, but then Clarke exhaled and said in the same breath, “It’s Bellamy.”  
Octavia tensed around Clarke. In a dangerously even voice, she asked, “What has he done this time?”  
Clarke suddenly felt a pang of pity for Bellamy then, he didn’t force that razor in her mouth, but she knew Octavia wouldn’t see it that way. “He’s into some deep trouble.”  
Octavia rolled her eyes, “Of course he is, but what has that go to do with you Clarke? I told you not to trouble yourself over him anymore. He’s no longer worth it.” She threw her hand over Clarke’s and squeezed. “The state of you, over what? Huh?”  
Clarke couldn’t meet Octavia’s eye. “They came for me, The Reapers.”  
Octavia pulled away. She remained unmoving. 

After a beat she said, “I’m going to go and kick his ass.” And she started for the door. Clarke coiled her hand around Octavia’s forearm.  
“You can’t tell him.”  
“Oh, I’ll tell him. While I’m kicking his ass. Let go, Clarke.” said Octavia.  
Clarke did not relent. “No, you can’t! If you tell him he’ll do something, you know he will!”  
“Damn right he fucking better.” She snapped, “What did they do to you, Clarke? And how long before they do it again? As long as Bellamy is into that senseless gangbanging shit, they’ll come for you and for what? Because your mother took us in, sheltered us? Gave us a home? And whatever he’s done to them they won’t stop until they’ve hurt him, hurt us, all the people Bellamy loves. Which, quite frankly I don’t think he does because he keeps putting us through this shit! The selfish fucking prick.”  
Clarke closed her eyes to relieve herself of the challenge in Octavia’s stare. “Octavia, please. You can’t tell him, or Lincoln.”  
“You want me to lie to my husband?” She said, hands on her hips, defiant. “Clarke you know that could have just as easily been me they found unawares. Hell, I’m Bellamy’s sister. It should have been me.”  
“Lincoln used to be one of them.”  
Octavia wrenched her arm from Clarke’s grip. “And he did what Bellamy would never do. He left all that shit behind! That is why I married him, Clarke. You know that.”  
“I do, which is why you can’t tell him. He’ll want to do something about it and dragging himself into it would be going two steps back.” she said, “Octavia you know I’m right, just please you can’t.”  
“Okay, Clarke. Okay, just calm down.” Octavia was gripping Clarke’s arms, steadying the hysterical girl before her. Finally, she asked, “What did they do to you?”

Clarke told Octavia everything about that night. Octavia was quiet. 

“Are you just going to carry this all, Clarke?” She asked.  
“Who else could I trust? Commissioner Kane and Jaha have put out rewards,” Clarke said, “And I will not incriminate her. She saved my life.”  
“She’s also the reason you can barely stand to look at me.” Octavia said, matter of factly. Clarke summoned steel around her heart and her gaze found her best friend’s face. At first she saw the hard, unyielding eyes of the Vigilante and Clarke remembered the smell of the iron in the Reaper’s blood. She recalled the memory of the razor and licked her lips, finding nothing but the smoothness of her Cupid’s bow. Clarke exhaled, “I can’t let myself be a victim, O.”

Octavia studied Clarke’s face for a long moment, “I won’t say anything.” she said. Clarke tossed her head back against the couch.  
“Thank you.” Clarke said.  
Octavia went for the wine, sipping. “I leave for several weeks and come back to Wells Jaha and a goddamn acrobatic crime fighter, all in the same stroke. I wonder what else is next?”  
“Only in Polis.” Clarke said. Octavia laughed but it stopped short.  
“I’m grateful for her then. Whoever she is, whatever she’s doing… I’m grateful.”  
For a moment, Clarke’s face flickered toward compliance, the first real expression of warmth she’d had on her face since Octavia saw her last. A change of subject finally felt appropriate. “Anyway, how's married life?”

Octavia smiled soft as the sun though a pair of shades. “The same as before, oddly enough. Lincoln is the love of my life; always has been.” 

“You know when you first met him I was scared. For you.” Clarke said. 

“I don’t blame you. Bellamy wanted to kill him,” she said, “And for all I know, probably still does.” Octavia’s jaw clenched. “That’s still my biggest fear. He has it in him, my brother--like one of those Reapers who wanted to hurt you.” 

Clarke didn’t want to believe that but who knew Bellamy as intimately as his sister? Clarke wondered then if the Vigilante had Bellamy in her trajectory.


	5. Feel No Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first appearance of the Delinquents. Monty and Jasper get a job offer from Bellamy. Jasper deals with domestic troubles and Monty gets caught in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh so I know I promised I'd be uploading weekly/bi-weekly and I know it's been over a month, but what a crazy month it was lol I had to deal with a lot of shit on top of writers block with this chapter in particular, but here it is. It is rather short but do enjoy.

Jasper Jordan’s trailer was situated amongst several others of its kind, but it was the only one still lit up with Christmas lights in the dead of March. Like vines they wove through the painted white picket fence surrounding, coming up along the archway trellis. Monty Green was careful not to brush up against the roses netted in the lattices. He rang the doorbell and Jasper’s girlfriend answered. She was wearing a purple maternity robe and her hair was damp and she stood heavily pregnant, one arm crossed over the bundle.

“Hey Monty,” said Maya in a tone suggesting she was not expecting him for breakfast. As if it mattered. Before Jasper knocked her up, Monty had always come around. They’d been best friends since grade school. 

“Maya,” he said amiably, having long accepted her as part of Jasper’s life now that she was carrying his kid. Behind her, a pair of lanky arms snaked around her belly and there was Jasper. He leaned his head on her shoulder, his cheek against hers. “You two are gross, by the way.” 

“Morning to you too.” Jasper said groggily. “Did you happen to bring coffee?”

Monty shook his head, “Nope,” and slipped between the pair of them, into the warmth of the trailer. 

Jasper groaned and pressed his lips to Maya’s neck, not quite a kiss. “Would you make some for us?” She nodded and withdrew to the kitchen. Monty took off his windbreaker and tied it around his waist. 

“So?” Jasper said, closing the trailer door to keep the heat in. He sat on the couch next Monty’s chair and began to unravel a ball of socks that had been waiting for him. “What’s the 411 and it better be good because the wife and I were in the middle of something.” Jasper wiggled his brows suggestively to his socks as he pulled them on. Maya appeared in the living room, eyes rolling. “Haha, Jasper. Coffee’s on.” 

Monty stood and headed for the kitchen. On his way there he heard Maya being reproachful, “And don’t call me wife unless I see a ring.” Jasper laughed and Monty heard movement. Most likely they were locked in some sort of embrace. Kinetic was Jasper, seeking touch, always moving. Monty knew how his hands became dangerous things when kept idle. Anyone who wanted to torture Jasper wound only have to bind his hands and feet and leave him be. In the other room there were soft, wet sounds. Monty realized they were kissing. He busied himself with his coffee. 

After Monty’s second cup, Jasper joined him in the kitchen. He didn’t bother with coffee, instead he clasped Monty’s shoulder with his hand and gave it an companionable shake. “So?” 

“So,” Monty drained the last dregs and sat the mug in the sink. Jasper turned to rinse it. Maya kept a neat house and if Jasper hated her scolding. Monty snickered to himself and said, “Bellamy told me to call him when I got to you, so… here I am.” 

“Figures.” said Jasper, then he smirked something rueful, “I asked Maya to marry me.”

Monty wasn’t thrown off. Moments ago he heard them; they didn’t mind that in the mobile there was no way he couldn’t have, but the intimacy of it made his skin prick in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t that Monty didn’t like Maya, in fact it was the opposite, but Jasper’s life was changing and Monty didn’t know where that left things. Especially regarding why he had come today. 

“Yeah, she totally said no.” Jasper’s laugh was soft. Monty studied his face, trying to read his voice. This little kitchen seemed it could barely stand against the gruesome weight that clung to their words. The entire trailer was the same footage as his bedroom back at his parents’ house. Outside the kitchen window was a small stretch of green yard before the edge hit the next trailer, and Monty could see in his head Jasper and his kid playing outside. This trailer was all the footage they’d need. It was domesticity and cookouts and borrowing cups of sugar from neighbors. Right now though, the walls seemed too thin and Monty was told to call Bellamy when he got here. He’d pulled his own self out of his empty bed to get here. To pull Jasper away from all of this so that they could make some easy money. 

“Finish getting dressed and come outside.” Monty said. When he left the trailer he felt like someone sat up from his chest. It was considerably less claustrophobic. And frigid. Monty undid the sleeves of his windbreaker and tossed it over his shoulders so that the nylon inside would swallow him up. 

“Shit.” Monty said after a moment. 

This was because Maya had just shouted from inside the trailer. “BECAUSE I’M TIRED OF THIS SHIT JASPER! I KNOW YOU LIKE A BOOK!”

Jasper and Maya argued without shame. Monty was incredibly sorry for their neighbors. Inside, the back and forth continued and it reduced Monty to pacing. A pendulum was swinging, inside and outside, until Jasper emerged from the trailer looking incredibly over his missus and her antagonizing. Bang, the door flew open and hit the aluminum siding. After him, Maya called out. “I SWEAR TO GOD JASPER IF YOU COME HOME LOADED YOU ARE SLEEPING IN THE YARD!”

Jasper ignored her and started down the walk. He took Monty by the shoulder. “Never have kids, Monty. God, I need a cigarette. Let’s go.” 

They walked, passing the other trailers in a companionable silence. Finally Monty called him on it. “What do you mean never have kids? Yours isn’t even here yet.”

The other boy snorted, “You know she doesn’t even let me smoke anymore, and if I smell like smoke she makes me take off my clothes and put them in the wash.” He spoke as if this was the worst thing in the world. Monty dogged behind Jasper, hands shoved in his pockets, looking gloriously disaffected by Jasper’s situation now that they were out and about. Jasper was the opposite. Endlessly patient as he’d been back at the trailer, his each step was now violent. He thrashed and jerked--his version of frolicking, complaining as they left the trailers behind for the neighborhoods adjacent. Finally Jasper let out a huff. “Where did you park?” 

“Not near the trailers.” Monty said. Jasper’s neighbors were not genial toward the privileged. On a boiling day three years ago Monty found the shell of his car door splattered with runny egg, the resulting paint job costing him a pretty penny. Ever since, Monty parked around the corner when coming to see Jasper. Only this time the curbs on either side of the street had been lined with cars. It was a lengthy walk, but on the next curb sat Monty’s Subaru WRX, a little project car he got off this sexy chick mechanic in their senior year. Seven thousand dollars cash, and it looked it.

At the first light, Monty dialed Bellamy. The speaker system blared the dial tone all around them and Bellamy answered, his huff of hello both short and curt. 

“You told me to check in when I got to Jazz.” Monty said. Beside him, Jasper grinned and waved as if Bellamy could see him.   
“Hello, hello, hello!” he sang. Bellamy gave another huff, this time it was laughter.   
“Good, I got a job for the pair of you. Extra pay,” he added, for Jasper’s sake. “I want you guys to look for Murphy for me.”   
Monty said, “Christ Bellamy.”  
“I know, I know.” he said, “But he knows too much and I’d like him close.” More like owes you too much, Monty thought. The light turned green and Monty hit the gas. The WRX roared. Jasper’s fingers were sprawled across the glove compartment, nails battered. He looked thoughtful. Looking for Murphy meant searching all of Polis’ dark holes. Messing with junkies. And Murphy was a junkie himself. Monty had no idea why Bellamy would keep someone like that around if it didn’t mean that someone was working off a debt. 

“Alright.” Monty said, adding, “And that's extra for us both and we still haven’t got our cut from the last gig.”   
Bellamy’s chuckle was something dangerous. “No problem, come collect. And as for this job you get half now and half later when you bring me Murphy.” 

Jasper grunted, “Take some room rent out of mine, Bell. I’m gonna need somewhere to stay tonight.”

Monty glanced at Jasper for a moment, who was still looking at his fingers. Maya surely meant what she screamed at him earlier and a bed at Bellamy’s was a million times more ideal than a bed of grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show me love on tumblr - ro-ro-champuru.tumblr.com
> 
> Muse for the story - http://spookyredhair.tumblr.com/post/141409687474/superhero-au


	6. Slug Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Titus assault a warehouse where the reapers are moving a shipment of illicit goods. Lexa also meets with an inside man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I explained before the last chapter, I want to make up for my month long absence. So here is another chapter. This one was one of my favorites to write, so please please enjoy. <3

Overhead, the sky was a dark canopy of clouds masking Lexa as she secreted herself upon the rooftop of a warehouse downtown. Beneath the slope of a solar panel she made herself into a ball and hid. A Reaper stood guard to the entrance of the stairwell exit, smoking and leaning lazily against the door. If she took him now, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise; the entrance was well lit and he would see her and that would make a mess of things. So she waited, cautious and quiet until he flicked the smoked down filter on the ground, not caring to put it out. For a long moment he stood there. Lexa waited for anything. A phone call, a bathroom break, something to clear the rooftop. Patience was her strong suit, but this was testing her. An hour passed, two, until this crouching began to burn her legs and she decided to stalk for the quiet kill. 

It reminded her of hunting red stag in Bohemia, except the smooth planes and dull greys of this rooftop were nothing like the confluence of the rivers Ohre and Tepla. But he was red though, the leather of his cut was red like blood. And though she couldn’t see it, she knew that death was cloaked and wielding a scythe on the patch upon the back. 

As she approached, she could feel herself hesitating. Never was there any pleasure in murder for her. Sometimes it was necessary, other times it was collateral. And it was always them. But right as she got close he called out to him and when his head snapped up, she clipped his jaw with a sideswipe. He dropped. 

Lexa felt herself breathe.

“I was waiting to see where you would come from.” A voice startled her. Quickly she pressed her back to the wall beside the door and frowned, drawing her blade. Like her, he’d been hiding beneath a solar panel and now that the coast was clear he was making himself known to her. 

“Titus.” She growled, her surprise irresolute. For sure she hadn’t expected him, but seeing him here, dressed as she was in carbon polymers and a single lamed pauldron made of steel, his purpose was the same as hers. As it often was. “You could have just as easily took him out.”  
“I wanted to see if you would first.”  
Lexa scoffed and walked over near the skylight, peering inside. Her eyes had to work harder thirty six feet above, luckily the inside was well lit with fluorescent lights. Titus joined her, grinning. It annoyed her when he was amused, especially if it was something to do with her. “What?” 

His lips pursed, but his eyes were still smiling. “You hesitated back there.” 

“You didn’t help.” Her tone was accusing. 

“Yes, but something was holding you back.” said Titus. She threw a heavy gaze at him, the sort she tried not to give Tristan at the office. 

“I’ve killed too many of them already.” She said. Titus nodded and turned away from her, walking back to the door of the entrance. 

He gave the knob a gentle tug and when it didn’t give, he reached up and used the pommel of his sword to knock the light out. He wasn’t tidy about it either. “You could be more quiet, you know.” Lexa huffed. It was near black on the rooftop now. 

“Even if they heard us, they can no longer see us.” Titus said matter-of-factly. Lexa gave an irritated shrug and returned to looking down below. “We’d still have the element of surprise.”

Still peering into the glass, she asked. “What do you think they’re moving?” 

Beside her, Titus watched. A truck was being loaded, boxes and boxes and boxes passed from one pair of strong arms to another. From below they were tiny, working like ants in a formicary. “Drugs, most likely. You know how these gangs work.”  
“How’d they get this place?”  
Titus said, “Well you know extortion goes a long way.” 

He wasn’t wrong. But something about this scene still struck Lexa as odd. Here before them were not men dressed in red leather but plain men, some with bellies and greying mustaches in blue collars hauling freight. Lexa said, “Usually there is money that goes with extortion and the Reapers don’t have that much.” Especially with the way she’d been hitting them the past few weeks. 

One of the workers dragged the door down and secured the lock. “It’s about to leave.” She said. The shutter door rolled up. They stalked close to the sound. One of the men shouted a signal and the truck pulled out of the warehouse. 

“Well I’ll be,” Titus said. Lexa was seeing the same thing. The siding on the truck was all white except for a single logo, a blue slash that read: Azgeda Enterprises, Inc. 

Lexa felt heedless, the blood in her body lurching. “We must follow.” 

Without another glance at Titus, she went for the ladder that she climbed earlier to get onto the roof. She didn’t know if he followed, because she was going down. So impatient, that when she was near meeting the ground she slid down the ladder and let herself drop. Lexa felt the sting in her ankles as her feet hit the pavement. 

She ran, but she wasn’t near fast enough. Of course they saw her. She was dressed like an avenger and she had abandoned all stealth. Behind her they shouted, “Racoon Eyes!” Then she heard cries of pain. Lexa turned her head. 

Titus was drawing them away. No, picking them off. 

From his hands he let fly two modified, foldable fishing spears, and got two leather wearing Reapers in the back. More left the warehouse for the commotion, just under a dozen. Lexa knew she’d lost the truck but there was no way she was leaving him behind. 

Two of them caught up with her--determined not to let her get away. Lexa would make them regret it. 

Lexa unsheathed her sword, it was full tang steel and the finish was black as the sky above. They stopped, eyeing the sword in her hand wearily. Perhaps they weren’t as stupid as she figured. Looking them up and down, she saw the handguns tucked in the waistbands of their jeans. “Move and I’ll cut you both down.” 

The pair heeded her but loathed it. Lexa called to the one on her left, “You, hold out your hands.” 

He did as he was told and with the flat of her blade she rapped his knuckles so hard he screamed, dropping to his knees. The Reaper to her right moved for his gun, but her foot cracked against his throat so hard that he stumbled back, choking. She felt little sympathy for the pair of them. 

Titus was dealing with the rest of the swarm near the rolling doors of the warehouse. Lexa joined him, slashing at limbs preoccupied with keeping him pinned to the wall. Some of them turned to meet her but she used the flat of her blade to smash their hands. In her training long ago, Titus had taught her to take out their hands first. What could they hit or grab with if their fingers were broken. One of the Reapers threw a punch at her. He was wearing shades, at night. Lexa made her arm a chicken wing and smashed her elbow in his face. His shades broke on impact and he spun around, writhing. Lexa kicked him in the back, sending him forward. In the corner of her vision she saw Titus breathing hard but still fighting. 

Something in her gut flipped. In the distance she could hear cars approaching. “We have to go!” She shouted, drawing back. Titus kicked a Reaper in the gut, sending him away and followed. A gunshot rang behind them, then another, and another, but they left none of them in shape to follow. 

Together they ran up the block and down an alleyway. Ahead was an apartment complex, but Lexa wanted no window peering witnesses privy in case police responded to that gunfire. It was then she found herself missing the wilds of Saxony--the Tharandt Forest, where there were so many places to hide. 

Beside her, Titus’ breathing grew irregular. She turned to him. “Titus, you were hit.” Gingerly, he clutched his side, panting like a dog locked in a car during summer.  
“Just a scratch, I swear.”  
Bullshit. But she didn’t dare say so aloud. Instead she said, “We have to get off this street.” She sucked in a breath. Lexa didn’t want him running again for fear he’d pass out. Somewhere far off from where they came she could hear sirens.  
“You go.” He said, after a moment. His breathing was steadier. “I can make myself disappear but you cannot. Go.”  
“No chance.” She replied. Titus made a noise.  
“Get on, girl. Don’t be stupid.” He straightened up in front of her, though she could tell it took him great pains to do so.  
“If you die I’ll kill you.” Lexa said, tearing herself away from his side. Titus laughed.  
“We’ll be in contact.” He said.

As she ran further on, Lexa noticed how the city lights trespassed the night sky from pitch black to a lazy orange glow. There were no stars, but all the clouds had gone and overhead it was milky dark. Lexa’s moth eaten wrap covered her braided hair. If anyone saw her, they would see the Vigilante, not Lexa Woods. If there was a thrill to a double identity, it escaped Lexa. It twisted at her gut everytime she stepped out into streets, unknown yet at risk all the same. Up ahead a car was parked. Lexa darted toward it and looked in the side view mirror. Still smeared around her eyes was the dark paint that kept her obscured. Home could wait, there was something she was of a mind to do. 

From her pocket she withdrew her phone, dialed star 67 and then punched in the rest of the numbers. He picked up on the fourth ring. 

“What?” He slurred indignantly. Immediately, Lexa knew he was drunk.  
Her voice was filled with vehemence. “Get up. Meet me in the subway station near 14th.” 

Another hour later she was waiting in the empty underground near the rails. It was 3 a.m. but Lexa wasn’t tired.

He showed looking absolutely blasted. There was no color in his face and he must’ve thrown on the first thing he got his hands on because his t-shirt was stained. “What did you call me all the way out here for?” 

Lexa grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him back against the painted brick wall. He hissed at the pain in his shoulder blades. “You’re wasted.”  
“Yes.” He admitted.  
“Goddamn it, John.” She said, letting him go. He rolled his shoulders and looked at her. His blue eyes were focused but only because her reprimand was sobering.  
“Look okay, I needed something to help me sleep. Just wine.”  
“Just wine?”  
Murphy made a pained face. “They give me all kinds of shit, but it was just wine tonight. I promise. Some roxys too but that’s it.”  
She knew that when he said ‘they’ he meant the Reapers. “Why didn’t you tell me about what they were doing tonight.”  
“Tonight?”  
She made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. “They were moving product in Azgeda trucks.”  
He sighed at this. “I wasn’t told.”  
“But do you know what the product is?” She asked.  
Murphy nodded. “I know what it feels like. They gave it to me once--a few days ago. It was nothing like I’ve ever had before. It makes you… angry. Angry and fearful and strong. It’s like a frenzy. Everything is heightened. They made me fight this guy. I think I killed him.” 

Lexa’s green eyes scourged him. Murphy looked down and said, “I don’t know how long I can keep this up. Everyday I just feel so…” He broke off then, before a sob got caught in his throat. He slid down the wall, curling into himself pitifully. Her hand rested on the cord wrapped tang of her blade and her eyes were quiet and narrowed. “I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for Bellamy to find me. If he finds out I’m slumming it with the Reapers, I’m dead.” 

“That won’t happen. I need you alive.” She said, her voice flat.  
Murphy wiped at his face. “Then why did you put me with them.” He shivered, but it wasn’t cold out. “Cerberus makes me use. He says people mistrust junkies, but we just lack incentive.” 

Cerberus was the leader of the Reapers, and his logic was infallible. Cruel, but infallible. Lexa squatted down beside him. “Like I said, I need you and as long as I need you, I will not let you die.” 

Murphy half laughed, half sobbed. “That’s reassuring. What happens when you no longer need me?” 

Lexa heard people coming and got to her feet. “By then, all this shit will be over. They’ll be over.” 

Murphy grabbed her by the arm, his eyes swallowed her. “You should have let them take her, the girl. Clarke. She’s out there and if she tells Bellamy I was there…” 

Lexa wrenched her arm away from him. “Maybe you could have that innocent girl’s torment on your conscience, but not me.” Leaning over him, she murmured. “Stop worrying about Bellamy Blake and worry about what will happen if you don’t keep me informed about what the Reapers are doing. Keep your head down.” 

Before they had another visitor on the platform, Lexa vanished up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show me love on tumblr - ro-ro-champuru.tumblr.com
> 
> My lovely muse, MJ <3 - http://spookyredhair.tumblr.com/post/141409687474/superhero-au


	7. Alter Ego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa deals with the professional side of her double life, dealing with the consequences of mishandling her duties as CEO and uses company resources to further her personal mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew. You guys I have a lot of personal shidd going on (Good things). Luckily I wrote this before all that, but this is largely unedited and hopefully I can edit it at another time; I just can't prioritize it right now with everything (large and good) going on but here it is. I hope you like it <3
> 
> Also I did a lot of research for airless tires, they are pretty fucking cool. Here is what I based Lexa's ATV on - http://www.gadgetreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Sporstman-WV850-Gray-Location-SIX3499_0051_b-900x506.jpg

It was late afternoon when Aden popped his head into Lexa’s office, right after her video conference with the shareholders. Since early morning she had to sit in view of the camera; apologizing, strategizing, excusing herself, yet the hardest thing of all was keeping eye contact with all of them. Looking into their faces as they scolded her like a child. Talking down to her as they pleased. These were individuals who’d done business with her father for years and then her cousin, Anya. Thankfully, she had her Uncle Gustus in the call with her. Like Lexa his shares in the company were included in the family trust. After the other stockholders and executives signed off, he remained with her. 

“You did well by the way.” he told her. On camera his head was slightly larger than it was. Gustus was a big man in person but on video call he seemed broader, reminding her of a titan. 

“Did I? I have a feeling this resolved nothing.” she admitted. “Do you think they’ll take legal action?”

“Too risky. Polaris Innovations is nothing without a Woods.” Lexa feared this was untrue. When she turned eighteen her father's stake in the company automatically fell to her and combined with Gustus’ stake, the Woods family remained the majority shareholders of Polaris Innovations. But the CEO had a duty to all the shareholders, a duty they were accusing her of not prioritizing. If it came to it, perhaps they would try and unmake her. 

“They have you.” she said with a rueful smile. “I never understood why you never took the helm. Why you let Anya do it?”

Gustus looked away from the camera, stalling like an engine. Lexa didn’t speak. Finally he said, “I would have never let her if I’d known what was going to happen.” 

“Gustus, you had your reasons.” she said. Gustus removed his eyeglasses and pressed his fingers to his mouth. 

“I should go. I have an appointment in half an hour.” he said after a moment. “Lexa, be diligent. Do your job. No more of this, or perhaps they’ll do as you fear.” 

He signed off. Lexa stood. Behind her the wall was a whole, wide window from floor to ceiling where she looked out wistfully on the corporate campus. Fifteen years before his passing, Alexander Woods commissioned a suburban corporate campus on the outskirts of the city to serve as headquarters of Polaris Innovations. It sprawled out before Lexa like the grounds of her own hyper modern castle. 

For a long moment she watched a few employees enjoy an off day on the sport court above the parking garage right across from the main building, then she heard Aden enter. 

“I went to Indra, like you asked.” he said. She looked sideways at him. Aden was a slender wick of a boy with copper hair and an innocence about him that endeared him to Lexa, despite him being assigned to her by the board. 

Lexa gestured languidly. “Well?” 

“She said she’ll meet you after work.”

Lexa blinked. “Okay.” And later that evening she watched as Indra walked down the executive level of the parking garage in a black trenchcoat, her handbag slung upon her shoulder. It reminded her of her meeting with Gustus, except Indra had an invitation and unlike the parking garage below the highrise she lived in, this one was above ground. 

“Miss Woods.” Indra said in greeting. 

“Please, Indra. It’s unnerving when you call me that.” Lexa admitted, though she had a feeling Indra was aware. 

“Well, you’re a superior.” Indra said coolly. This wasn’t always the case. When Lexa was a little girl she often frequented Polaris HQ with her father. Most of those in his employ were either retired or had approached her in her return and found her unequal to the little girl they knew before. But Indra wasn’t either of those. At least it seemed to Lexa. 

In the weeks following Lexa’s return the only one patient enough to tolerate her had been Indra. She filled Aden with too much awe, her posturing turning lesser men silent. But to Lexa, this was the same woman who would bring cupcakes to the office whenever Lexa visited. Always Lexa’s favorite, always perfect down to the candy garnish atop the frosting. It would still take some time getting used to being Indra’s superior. “Just Lexa, Indra. Alright?” 

Indra considered that. “Alexandria.” she said, compromising. Lexa nodded once. 

“You’ve been keeping your distance lately.” Lexa said. It wasn’t a poor accusation. 

To her credit, Indra didn’t deny it. “I just thought it would be best given what is going on.” 

Lexa said nothing. There was no blaming Indra, but she needed her now. “I’m sorry, about all of it. I guess I’m not making this easy for anyone.” 

“No, you aren’t. But there is no stopping you, Alexandria. You are much like your father that way.” Indra said matter-of-factly. 

Was she? Alexander stopped for nothing but his morals, but the glass of her moral compass had been smashed inward and she kept the shards with her in her pocket. Indra was far from an idiot and Lexa didn’t take her for one. Indra not only tolerated Lexa in the office but she also tolerated her interest in various specific Polaris prototypes, both of the past and present. 

“What do you need of me, Alexandria?” Indra asked as if this was not the first time the girl had come to her for a personal favor. 

“The gear you gave me last time, I need more and I need it better.” 

The gear in particular was made of nomex, kevlar, and polycotton inlaid with carbon polymers designed to stop knives and absorb bullets. It’d been keeping Lexa alive on the nights she needed it. That and her sword and mail, but those were not from Indra. 

Before Anya took the position of CEO, Indra had been acting managing director of Polaris Innovations on a national scale. The Board, with Gustus’ blessing, elected her to virtually run the company. Everyone knew her to be Alexander’s most brilliant colleague, her talents in the field of Ballistics, Missiles, and Fire Control proved Polaris’ most innovative business at the time. When Anya arrived, the board was reluctant to have her back in this position, however Indra went willingly. After Anya died and Lexa arrived, Lexa knew it was Indra she would all but recruit to be her armorer. 

“Alright. Let me put my bag in my car.” 

Indra’s Lexus SUV was parked just a few spaces down past Lexa’s Nissan. Lexa watched as she opened the hatchback, tossed her bag inside, closed it and walked back over. 

“Come, “ Indra said. “Before it gets dark.” 

Lexa did not ask why Indra wanted to hurry before dark, just as Indra displayed an antipathy toward a curiosity she had to have possessed. 

Lexa would be curious too. Hell, Lexa was curious. If Indra suspected anything, she sure didn’t show it. 

Down the parking garage they went and back to the main tower, which was the tallest of the two on campus. Indra retrieved her keycard from her coat pocket and swiped it across the machine, it lit up green, and the door clicked approvingly. Indra pushed it open and led Lexa inside and down a corridor of amenities. 

The last time they did this Indra had told her, “No harm in me showing you prototypes that aren’t in production, little harm in keeping them here for you to tamper with. The board’s been strict since your cousin passed.” Lexa had been incredibly aware of that.

They reached an elevator in no time, passing few members of staff by. Those that were still at work had offices to do the work in. Lexa huffed. Only once she did this with Indra, though she had told the woman to expect her again. When? At the time she didn’t know, but the fact that it was just as easy as last time to stroll through her father’s facilities to serve her own, very illegal purposes was incredibly emboldening. Lexa could imagine how her father must have felt when he was working on something his lessers would consider extremely radical. Lessers. Gustus had set himself apart from them, but Alexander Woods set himself above them. Kept his ilk like a shepherd. Her cousin Anya tried to continue Alexander’s legacy at too dangerous a time. Now it was Lexa’s turn, and Lexa would open a man up from prick to scalp to protect what was now hers. To avenge what was lost. 

Moving outside company bylaws was a small risk to take in comparison to sitting meekly. 

On the bottom floor was where the elevator deposited them, where an underground level opened itself up. The level had been designed for research--where the applied science geeks had their fun. Also on this level was the storage room where the prototypes were discarded. That was where they were headed. 

Lexa and Indra passed vacant desks of lit up computers showing the logo of Polaris Innovations. A pillar stood by every desk and above head the lights were clinical and disarming compared to the vicinities above ground. Windows meant sun and without the sun there was no sense of time. 

Together they entered the storage room. It was like a closet of toys, an attic filled with outdated treasures. A billion dollar garage sale with Lexa the only customer. Various containers stood in different corners in various sizes, made of different permutations of materials from steel to the hardest plastics to prevent the prototypes wearing with age. Indra led Lexa over to a particular container drawer and pulled it open. “You can only use what we have. How did the last gear fit?”

Awkwardly, was the answer to that. “I had to get it tailored, but I have a guy for that.” Indra gave Lexa a side eye and pointed to the gear in particular. 

“Like your last bunch. Lightweight, skintight carbon polymer and nomex fabrics inlaid with kevlar and carbon steel plates designed for optimal movement and maximum agility. These fabrics in particular were reinforced with technora staple fibers and filament yarn. Oh, and unlike the last gear these are... ‘galvanized’ so to speak.” Indra looked at Lexa to make sure she was keeping up. 

“Galvanized?” Lexa demanded. “Like steel?” 

“Well, more like infused… Non-newtonian fluids sealed within the nomex and kevlar. Okay, galvanized wasn't the word for it, but for lack of a better one. The fluids harden when force is acted upon.” 

Lexa stared at the gear. “Like oiling chainmail to keep it from rusting. ‘Galvanized.’” Lexa laughed. Indra grumbled and took the materials out, packing them in a hard plastic case. 

“Lack of a better word.” Indra said between her teeth. They both chuckled. When it died, Indra was all business again. “I just appreciate that you haven’t made an excuse for all this.”

“As I appreciate your discretion, and your help.” Lexa took a deep breath and stared at the case again. Beside her Indra folded her arms and stood in that posture her professors took when they asked her what was going on at home for her to show up to class bruised and achy, when all she’d been doing was training with Titus. 

“You don’t want to tell me exactly what it is you are doing, I don’t mind. Plausible deniability. But I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you have what you need. Your father was good to me and my mine.” Indra said, “And as far as I’m concerned, all this stuff belonged to him and now it belongs to you.” 

Lexa looked up at her. “Thank you.”

Indra’s face was softer than Lexa had ever seen it since her return. Lexa remembered Indra all those months ago. Even then Indra gave her the benefit of the doubt and spared Lexa pity. Not even Gustus the psychologist had been able to do that. His pity quickened into resentment, though on today of all days he put it aside for her. Yet here was Indra, nothing but a staunch supporter. 

Lexa didn’t expect to find any allies at Polaris, but she was immensely grateful. She hated to push it. “Indra. If there is something else I may ask of you?”

Indra sighed. “Yes?”

“I need some wheels. Something more discreet than a Nissan, and as sturdy as this suit you gave me.” 

“I know just the thing.” 

****

Two days later Lexa drove twenty three minutes from headquarters to Polaris Armory, an AFV factory containing 5.3 million square feet of manufacturing and office space. Unlike Polaris HQ, the facility had broke ground in the last decade and only just recently began production of their latest combat vehicles.

When Lexa neared the factory she was surprised to see that there was more of the site than she had initially anticipated. In fact it took up most, if not all the East Industrial neighborhood. Her eyes scanned the building. Surrounding it was a small army of AFV’s, both completed and test models of the Piranha tanks and the Light Gun Car took up the front of the showroom while civ cars belonging to the employees and customers were situated in front of the visitors center. Lexa felt out of place pulling up in her dingy white ‘69 S30, but she parked where the customers did and walked in the glass fronted entrance. 

Inside, the factory was even more beautiful and efficient looking than it’d looked outside. In the assembly area next door, Lexa heard productive and cost-effective machinery noises. In the visitors center it was quiet and genial. There was a woman perched behind the main desk wearing a black collared shirt, she was taking a phone call but her eyes found Lexa the moment she walked it. Lexa paid no mind to it, instead she was taking it all in. The giant red wall with the Polaris logo hung in beautifully wrought letters. The next wall with pictures of their latest models. Merchandising also hung upon the walls on racks. A set of black couches surrounding a coffee table stacked with magazines sat right in the middle of the area. 

Lexa sat adjacent a man wearing an expensive looking hoodie and jeans. He was reading a magazine contentedly, as if he were waiting for nothing in particular. Lexa was too antsy for casual reading at the moment. She felt like the edge of her sword in its scabbard at home, freshly sharpened and unused. At the desk the receptionist had wrapped up her phone call. Lexa had been hyper aware of the girl’s constant staring and the way Lexa got up to approach the desk was to let the girl know she was aware. 

The girl swallowed. “May I help you?” She sounded nice enough, but not as if she were expecting anyone. Lexa didn’t have an appointment perse she didn’t really think she needed one. Indra had told her to show up at Polaris Factory around this time--Lexa checked her watch, she certainly wasn’t tardy--and that the Product Architect would be around to greet her.

“Yes, I’m here to see a, Miss Raven Reyes, that would be the Product Architect here at Polaris Motors.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get your name, do you have an appointment with Miss Reyes.” Very professional, but there was something in the girl’s tone that hinted at nerves. Lexa couldn’t help but think this was ill-timed, that Indra had this all wrong. The last thing Lexa wanted to do was stroll in and boast her superiority in an environment that had its own operative flux. Six months she’d been playing at this role and it still felt surreal in a way blood and steel weren’t. 

To her luck she didn’t have to do anything. A slim woman in a red flight jacket a size too big emerged from the back room with another in tow. Beneath the jacket she wore a thermal shirt and her hair was tied back. Lexa didn’t think anything of the girl until she spoke. “Kristina, when were you going to tell me Miss Woods had arrived.” 

“Miss Woods?” Kristina looked from the girl in the flight jacket, who was clearly running things around here to Lexa, who just stood there expectantly. 

“Yes, Alexandria Woods. Head honcho of the entire Polaris conglomerate.” The girl in the flight jacket flashed a wicked grin that made Lexa want to laugh. “Miss Woods, can I call you Alexandria? Hell even that is a mouthful. I’m Raven Reyes, Product Architect of this particular subsidiary of yours.” 

The bouncing around of titles and pleasantries was clearly flaunting. Lexa didn’t know if she disliked Raven Reyes or not, but the reaction of the girl’s face behind the desk was oddly gratifying. “You may call me Lexa.” 

Raven smirked at this and turned to Kristina. “You can hold all my appointments for the morning.” The girl nodded and turned to the computer on the desk. “Want the tour Lexa?” 

“Did Indra tell you why I was here?” Lexa asked. Raven seemed to be a natural leader, already they were walking through the facility. 

“She did, but I figured you’d like to see the place first.” Raven wasn’t wrong. Lexa was intrigued by the sound of the productive machinery and how vast the space was. Which brought her to her next question. 

“The facility is only a few million square footage of how many acres?” 

Raven grinned. “Three hundred and seventy. Space that will prove its value in the next twenty years, you’ll see.” 

Around the facility they went, which Lexa thought impossible at first but of course logic proved her wrong yet again when two custodians brought them a golf cart to take them about. During the entire ride Raven told her everything there was to know about the facility, which to Lexa’s surprised wasn’t as boring as she’d anticipated. Raven was engaging, charismatic, and even dynamic in her guidance. Every model in production she spoke of as if they were her children. And they were. As product architect hers was a critical role responsible for product definition; not only did she handle the business of catering to the market but she was also responsible for the manufacturing of the product she designed. 

Lexa asked. “And how old are you exactly, Raven?” At this Raven laughed. 

“Twenty six.” She said as she pushed the golf cart down the assembly line. The noise of everything had been jarring at first compared to the quiet of the visitor center’s, but Lexa was brilliant at quickly adapting to an environment. Lexa watched the autobots work like bees in a hive, assembling parts on the steel shells of the latest model. Raven took her ease the entire morning describing the finer details of production until finally she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I bet you’re over all this aren’t you?” In truth, Raven was right. Lexa wanted what she came for. Yet at the same time Lexa had grown quite enamoured with her observations. From her own experience she had seen what combat vehicles could do. Knowing they were being mantled under her own roof was satisfying and also sad. 

She knew that this industry was more than just defense and innovation. These things killed people. 

But then again, so did Lexa herself. 

“The morning has become the afternoon, let’s move on.” She told Raven, who was happy to oblige. 

Raven pushed the golf cart out of the building and toward an undesignated space she told Lexa they used for storage. 

“So, I heard you were a fan of cafe racers.” Raven said coyly. 

Lexa rolled her eyes. “I own one or two, yes.” It wasn’t abnormal for Lexa to show up to the office in her custom Honda CB. “I got into them when I was in Prague, you know how narrow European streets are.” 

“Actually I would know, I’ve been to Naples.” Raven said with an easy grin. “How do you feel about ATV’s?”

“Familiar.” Lexa said immediately. 

Raven laughed at this and said, “I got my BSME when I was nineteen while interning here while you were doing what with ATV’s?” 

Lexa simply smiled. “You going to show me what you have for me?” 

Raven snickered, hopped out the golf cart, walked over to the rolling steel door and undid the chain. Lexa followed. Raven entered a pin number she gave to Lexa for future reference and pulled the door up. 

Unlike most storage units, inside the air wasn’t stagnant thanks to an active filtration system that ran over the entire facility. Raven led the way inside. Following closely, Lexa showed no curiosity to the bare chassis and parts and other prototypes covered in protective tarps. There was only one that held her attention. Raven pulled a tarp from the vehicle and allowed Lexa to marvel. 

It was an ATV as Raven implied earlier. Charcoal grey and black. It’s body more geometric shaped than any Lexa had ridden before. More utilitarian than any Lexa had ever seen. “It looks like it would laugh at gunfire.” 

Raven agreed. “Check out the tires.” 

The centerpiece of the ATW was undeniably the tires, they weren’t like anything Lexa had seen before. She crouched down and touched them. Solid rubber, even the spokes that resembled the lattices of a honeycomb. “Non-pneumatic tires.” Raven said, “Airless. Run over a spike or shoot a bullet at it and nothing will happen. No air to lose. And speaking of, you lose nothing in terms of ride. They roll smoothly. It comes with electronic power steering too. So no sore arms.”  
As if Lexa couldn’t handle sore arms. But she couldn’t help but grin like Raven. “Why didn’t these go in production.” But she knew the answer already. It was the same one Indra gave her back at HQ. 

Raven sighed. “It would have been at least another decade to perfect the tires. Too much money in the end when run flat tires are much cheaper to produce and provide the same purpose. Still, they’ll do you good I am sure. You aren’t over in Afghanistan or anything where shrapnel is common. Still something you can rip up in the desert somewhere; enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Lexa rose from by the tires and offered her hand to Raven, who caught on after a moment and shook it. “Thank you Raven.” The girl was still grinning from ear to ear. 

“It’s yours, no need to thank me. Come by and pick it up anytime.” 

That was the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come show me love on tumblr <3 
> 
> http://ro-ro-champuru.tumblr.com/
> 
> Superhero AU prompt by my girl MJ 
> 
> http://spookyredhair.tumblr.com/post/141409687474/superhero-au

**Author's Note:**

> For MJ. Her will my hands. Without her prompt this fic would have never been and she's been hanging in there, by my side, as I painstakingly took my sweet time editing and changing and editing again. *Heart Emoji*
> 
> MJ's tumblr: http://spookyredhair.tumblr.com/  
> Original Prompt: http://spookyredhair.tumblr.com/post/141409687474/superhero-au  
> My (Ronan) Tumblr: http://ro-ro-champuru.tumblr.com/


End file.
